A Match Made in Hell
by Arthur Delapore
Summary: Emily finds herself attracted to a murdered ghost in the Land of the Dead and Victor goes in search of a missing friend named Harley Warren in London.
1. The Outsider

A Match Made In Hell

_Dedicated to Danny Elfman._

Episode One: The Outsider

"Now I ride with the mocking and friendly ghouls on the night-wind, and play by day amongst the catacombs of Nephren-Ka in the sealed and unknown valley of Hadoth by the Nile. I know that light is not for me, save that of the moon over the rock tombs of Neb, nor any gaiety save the unnamed feasts of Nitokris beneath the Great Pyramid; yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage."

--H.P. Lovecraft's "The Outsider"

It was dark and clouds brooded o'er the distant mountains in the City of the Dead as the mist of white moths alighted on a steep ledge overlooking the city below. Slowly they materialized into a definite form—the form of a young, beautiful woman in a torn, ragged bridal dress. She had dark lovely eyes, full crimson lips, and had it not been for the fact that her bleached bones showed underneath her dress, she would have had a perfect form as well.

She stood in the same place where she had stood when she had spoken with Victor—when she had thought that their marriage was still something real.

She forced herself to concentrate on the denizens of the City below, trying to take her mind off her own thoughts. She saw General Wellington, Napoleon Bonesapart…and she saw a shadow pass by under the ledge and a cloaked figure enter the Ball and Socket Joint. Despite her sorrow, she could not keep back a feeling of curiosity. Was this a new arrival? She had never noticed anyone dressed in that fashion before in the City of the Dead and she had thought that everyone in the city was familiar to her.

Climbing from the ledge, the corpse bride wandered through the cobbled streets amongst the dead, until she reached the Ball and Socket Joint. Pushing past the wooden saloon doors, she saw Bonejangles downing a large mug of rum and slamming the glass down next to six other empty glasses.

"Emily!" he drawled when he caught sight of the corpse bride. "I'm glad you're back. That weddin' idea was pretty good until the end…" He added. "What did we do with the rest of that cake?"

Emily smiled in spite of herself. "You'll have to ask Miss Plum," she replied. As she spoke, she noticed that same cloaked figure sitting by Bonejangles at the bar, leaning against the counter. Emily was sure this time that she had never seen this person before. If he was a new arrival, she felt that it would be impolite to ignore him.

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you new here?"

The person did not answer and Bonejangles said, "Hey, mister, the lady asked you a question!"

The cloaked figure turned and Emily looked upon the face of a man about her own age with cold grey eyes, gentle lips, a pallid face, and dark hair.

"I am sorry, my dear, I was unaware that you were speaking to me," he said in a soft voice.

"That's all right," Emily said with a smile. "Are you new here? Did you just die?"

"Oh, no, I have been dead for a while," he replied sardonically. "Though I only just now arrived in this particular city of the dead."

"There are others?" Emily said in surprise.

"Certainly," the outsider replied. He lapsed into a reflective silence and Emily's curiosity was whetted.

"My name is Emily," she said presently. "What is your name?"

The outsider hesitated. "I do not know. Since I died, I have had no memory of my former life. I feel that I had a violent death, but I do not know who murdered me, what my name is, or even where I lived when I—lived."

"Well, that's all right, pal," Bonejangles downed another pint and slammed it on the counter, reaching for another. "Around here, it doesn't really matter!"

Emily felt a sympathy for the stranger with the lonely visage. She saw underneath the shadows of his cloak, that all that remained of him was a skeletal remnant. His eyes were cold and distant as he gazed back at her for a moment. And his story of a violent death reminded her of her own murder at the hands of Lord Barkis Bittern. Perhaps, she mused, she could help him discover his identity and his murderer…

"Victoria," Victor took a deep breath. "Now that we are m-married—I must tell you something."

"Yes, Victor dear?" Victoria said patiently.

"Ten years ago, something terrible happened—a friend of mine disappeared," Victor took another deep breath. "Unbeknownst to my parents, I have spent the last several years trying to discover what happened to him."

"Yes, Victor?" Victoria said.

"So—er—I have wanted to go to London in a while to visit a man who was acquainted with my friend. Perhaps he could give me a clue to go on," Victor suggested.

"We will leave immediately, then," Victoria replied.

"Thank you, Victoria," Victor said, twisting his tie nervously. "I only hope—that we don't run into the trouble that my friend met up with."

"What do you mean, darling?" Victoria asked in surprise.

"Oh—nothing," he said quickly. "I hope."


	2. Upstairs

Episode Two: Upstairs

Victor really had no idea how to start his search for his missing friend. The last he had heard of him was when a panicked fellow named Randolph Carter had sent him an incoherent telegram informing him that "Harley Warren is dead!"

After that, Victor had heard nothing more—either of Randolph Carter or of his friend Harley Warren. All he knew was that Warren was dead, that he had died somewhere in Florida, and that his death had left his close associate Randolph Carter with a near mental breakdown.

Victor's natural shyness and timidity, too, as well as a lack of knowledge in regard to the events, had prevented him from investigating Warren's disappearance any further. He had been content to resign himself with the knowledge that one of his best and truest friends was gone forever.

But now his marriage to Victoria had changed all that. Trite as it might have sounded to cynics, he was a new man now, and less afraid to take on challenges. He had heard that Randolph Carter now resided in London. Well, he would go there with Victoria, and together perhaps they could dig up new clues about Warren and what could have happened to him.

Victor went through a week of hasty preparation for the trip, packing lightly and choosing the quickest train rout that he could find from his home village of Covertmouth to London. It was on a Friday that they arrived in bustling, cobble-stoned London. After booking a room for himself at an inn on London's East End, he did a little investigating to discover where in London Randolph Carter lived—starting first by calling all the tenements in London to see whether they had a roomer by the name of Carter.

"Aye, I used to," one landlady, who owned a tenement on Whitechapel St., said to him over the phone. "But the fellow up and left a month ago."

"Do you know where he moved?" Victor asked anxiously.

"Can't say as I do…" the landlady murmured. "No…wait, I think I do know! Some place in Anchester, I believe. Don't know why he'd go there, but that's where he is."

Victor thanked the lady for her information and hung up. It was evening by that time and there was nothing more to do but wait for daybreak—and for a chance to head to Anchester, which was several miles from London.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Hastily picking it up, he recognized the scratchy voice on the other end as that of the landlady he had just spoken with.

"Thought there was something you ought to know, mister," she said hesitantly. "That feller you're lookin' for…Carter, his name is…I think he left because of something he was afraid of. I can't tell rightly what it was, but he acted like a wreck during the last few days he lived at my place. Can't tell what—or _who_—he was hidin' from, but it seemed serious." She paused. "Do you know anythin' about this?"

"No—no, of course not," Victor replied, his voice shaking slightly. "I—I'm just a friend of his."

"Well, then that's that, then," the landlady muttered. "Just thought you'd like to know, that's all." Then she hung up.

* * *

"How would you like to come with me—upstairs?" Emily asked the Outsider. She had spent the last hour talking with the strange newcomer that she had met at the Ball and Socket Joint.

"Upstairs?" he repeated, bewildered.

"You know, to the land of the living," she replied.

"I went there once," he said, his voice soft and wistful with bitter remembrance. "When I did not yet realize that I had become—a member of the dead."

Emily looked at him with sudden understanding. "And they cast you out?"

"Well, what else could they be expected to do—in the shape that I'm in?" he said with a half smile of black irony at the bleached, rotting bones that made up his body under the cloak. After a moment, he asked, "Why do you want to go to their land?"

"I thought that perhaps I could help you discover who your murderer was," she replied. At the same time, she felt doubts creep into her mind. Perhaps he would think of her suggestion as too forward and pushy, or perhaps the knowledge of his murderer would only cause him more needless pain.

But he glanced at her quickly full of surprised tenderness and said, "Very well. I have never thought of going back, but perhaps you are right—it would be wrong to leave a murderer with the living, to harm other victims. But how can we reach _their _land?"

Emily smiled and took his hand. "I'll show you," she said brightly.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To Elder Gutknecht."


End file.
